Dance makes me cry. Watching the beautiful expression of love, sadness, passion, fear, pain, and joy through the movement of the human body and music, nearly does me in. I remember dancing as a little girl, with my blanket stage spread out on the living room floor, ready to dance for any willing, or not so willing audience. I’ve danced as an adult and at times in my life found it to be the truest way to express my heart toward Jesus.
My daughter is a dancer. For about 6 months she asked to start taking dance lessons. I figured that if someone is persistent for that long, they are serious. She started taking Jazz dance in January and really worked hard. Her dance school recently performed a show called, “Firstborn from the Dead,” a story of the life of Jesus.
I had the camera to my eye as my daughter danced. I cried. I really cried hard. So forgive the quality of these photos. Focusing is kind of hard, when your eyes are all blurry.
Isabelle talks dance non-stop these days. She’s saving babysitting and tutoring money so that she can take both Jazz and Ballet next year, and she’s praying, praying, praying that she can earn enough money to take a dance intensive in July. I love that my girl is passionate about dance. I love that she has found yet another way to communicate her love for life and her passion for Jesus.